


The Stars You Swallow

by arcadenemesis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, And there was only one bed—uh escape pod, Druid Keith (Voltron), Exploration, Fingering, First Meetings, Gladiator Shiro (Voltron), Human Experimentation, Kissing, M/M, Mild Xenophilia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quintessence sensitivity, Running Away Together, Soul Bonds through Quintessence, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26710066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadenemesis/pseuds/arcadenemesis
Summary: "Apprentice Yorak," the witch says coldly over the screams. "Ensure the Champion's quintessence aligns with the enhancement."The ruckus within the lab gives way to a sudden, eerie silence, and another Druid brushes past him carrying a disembodied arm on a tray—bloodied, crushed beyond repair...and unmistakably Terran.Torn from home and family, young druid Keith knows little outside of his life under Macidus' tutelage. A new Gladiator from a distant and familiar world is about to change that all.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 268
Collections: Across Realities





	1. The Galaxies in Your Eyes

It's just another cold day in Hell.

By self admission, perhaps it's a rather egocentric mindset. Keith could always be fighting in the arena instead of working on the beasts it spits out, but it's a sentiment he stands by nevertheless. Torment need not be flayed in flesh to be endured. There are other ways to carve out sense of self, of contentment, of safety. They treat him well enough, but Keith knows it's only because of what he offers their cause. Once they no longer find him useful, they'll dispose of him too. He'll do anything to avoid that fate.

It's not that he spends his days in mourning. He doesn't remember the planet his mother took him from, nor the mother the Druids took him from. There's nothing to save him, nothing to go to, nothing to fight for. Only this, and the bone-deep understanding he's a pawn in an evil game he would rather not play. So it's Hell, but it's a Hell he knows—all he knows.

"Haggar requests your presence."

He came from Earth, that much he understands. Everything else? A recounted narrative. Stories given to him by others. His father must have been Terran: a primitive little race barely scratching at the stars above them (or so the story goes). His mother: Galra, one with a little Druid blood in her somewhere along the line (or so the story goes). At least, that's the only explanation Macidus can provide for Keith’s uncanny gifts.

The witch had seen those gifts in him the moment she laid eyes on him (or so the story goes). A deep, innate awareness of the quintessence around him, even at a tender age. Taking him under her wing, Haggar had saved him from a life with the Marmoran terrorists and taught him to turn that awareness into control.

...Or so the story goes.

Keith has always been sceptical of the narrative fed to him. Call it belief or intuition, but he's always known he was destined for something more than glorified biological reprogramming. Sometimes, he thinks, the witch knows too. 

"It's the Champion," Macidus tells him as they reach the lab. "Haggar wishes for you to oversee its augmentation. You should be honoured."

At least when he rolls his eyes behind his mask, his mentor can't see. Honoured? To be in the presence of one of the witch's pets? Please. There is no honour to be found in stitching up broken toys.

But what greets him inside is enough to stop him dead on his feet.

"Apprentice Yorak," the witch says coldly over the screams. "Ensure the Champion's quintessence aligns with the enhancement."

The ruckus within the lab gives way to a sudden, eerie silence, and another Druid brushes past him carrying a disembodied arm on a tray—bloodied, crushed beyond repair...and unmistakably Terran.

" _Now._ "

Keith hurries forward, blinking away his daze, to join the Champion's side where a sleek prosthetic awaits.

The man’s face is pleasing on a very base level, even under the blood and grime; a strong brow and jaw, with lips that swell into a soft blush, despite the cracks Keith's own suffer too when the air is dry. Delicate, dark lashes rest atop lovingly sculpted cheeks, and hidden under his torn prison garb is a promise of strength and ferocity. Their skin almost matches when Keith places a bare hand on his firm shoulder. It makes him shudder.

He's not sure if this is a test, but he's all too aware of Haggar beside him, so he reaches for the Champion's quintessence. The sharp intake of breath that follows is involuntary.

The Champion's life force feels like liquid sunshine as Keith lets it flows through him—a natural fit of biology, or maybe something more profound. It's nothing like the monsters he's tended to in his years, or even any of the Druids or Galra subjects brought into his charge. This connection resonates— _sings_. It's a hopeful harmony that cuts itself short when he hears Macidus clear his throat behind him. As Keith refocuses that energy into marrying metal with flesh, luxite-grey eyes flutter open, unfocused gaze drifting to his face...

Or at least, the mask covering it.

"Excellent work, Yorak."

* * *

For the first time in his life, Keith _cares_ about the results of the Gladiator fights.

He holds his breath every time a loser comes through the lab to be repurposed into spare parts, listens in when the Galra soldiers tease each other over lost bets and hypothetical personal odds. Whenever he hears a whisper of the word _Champion_ , he finds himself leaning into their conversations just a little closer.

So when Macidus summons him to the infirmary for an examination following the Champion's latest fight, Keith jumps at the chance to see him again. He arrives to a scene of the Terran strapped down, sprayed in black blood, teeth bared. A wild thing—an animal—or so the Galra seem to think.

The Galra doctor in attendance gives Keith a strange look and a wide berth, but he doesn't pay him much mind, transfixed on luxite eyes staring at him from the gurney. The wound across his nose has healed into a deep scar. It takes absolutely nothing away from his mesmerising face.

"You," he croaks, voice ruined from battle cries and exhaustion. "Yorak... You're the small Druid who gave me this arm."

Keith goes rigid, shocked. It's not strictly true, but he still feels...guilty. Enough to overwhelm any joy that the Champion recognised him, mask and all. He might as well be responsible, he supposes. He certainly played a large enough part. It makes his heart pound sickly in his chest, his breath hot and suffocating in his mask. He averts his eyes as he moves to the gladiator's side to gently take hold of his upper arm, seeking his quintessence.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks, as Keith slips into that sunshine stream again.

"I... I don't know," Keith whispers back, missing the way the Champion's eyes go wide.

* * *

Macidus takes him aside when they leave the lab.

"You are my apprentice, Yorak" he says, but it lacks all the warmth of a true mentor. "So you must understand that when I bring you in to work on one of Haggar's special projects, I have certain expectations of you."

Keith knows he should hold his tongue. A better student would just listen. "But Master, I—"

"You are _never_ to engage the subject on your table," Macidus interrupts harshly. "You complete your assigned task and leave. It isn't your toy or your pet. It is a vessel of science. Remoldable, disposable, replaceable. Nothing more."

Fury flares through Keith like a solar storm. Purple sparks crackle at his fingertips, and Keith can't clamp his fist quick enough before Macidus sees. With a flick of his Master's wrist, Keith slams hard into the wall of the hallway, blinking away stars. 

"Don't delude yourself, child," Macidus snarls. "You may be gifted, but betray me and you _will_ suffer." Keith couldn't argue, even if he wanted to. Macidus' magic courses like poison in his veins, holding him still against the cold wall. Macidus leans in closer, speaking no louder than he must to be heard. "If this Terran lives up to its promise, then Lord Zarkon could have an entire planet of warriors at his disposal," he says, no less menacing behind his mask. "This war could be over before we could have ever dreamed. But if you feel some kinship in your muddied blood for a people that have never lifted a finger for you, then I will gladly let you take the Champion's place. Don't forget that."

He vanishes in a swirl of smoke, and Keith slumps as the grip of Macidus' magic recedes, heaving. The warning hangs heavy in the space he leaves behind. Keith can tell himself he's not afraid. 

It would be a lie.

* * *

It takes only one more fight for Keith to break.

A creature _ten times_ his size, the Galra soldiers claim. They don't know how he survives. When Keith sees the corpse, he doesn't either. Once he cleans the taste of bile from his mouth, he makes a decision. Damn Macidus' threats. He can't do this any longer. Neither can the Champion.

They still have him in the lab, Keith knows, eager to enhance him even more. He can't let that happen. There's a knife tucked into his robes—a relic of his mother—and with the element of surprise, the room is conquered in seconds. Keith steps over unconscious bodies to get to the Champion at the centre of the floor, tied down to another table and breathing hard, eyes wild.

"It's you," he says, struggling as Keith works on the restraints. "Yorak, right? What are you doing?"

"My name—my _real_ name," Keith protests, pulling away his infernal mask, "is Keith. And I'm getting you out of here."

The Champion goes still with a stuttered breath between them. Keith can guess as to the reason for his surprise.

"You're—"

"Terran, I know."

"—beautiful."

Keith stills momentarily at that too, feeling his face grow warm. Beautiful? It must be the fog of magic clouding the Champion's mind. No one in all his deca-phoebs has labelled Keith beautiful. Strange, yes. Feisty and gifted. Never _beautiful_. But he can't pause for thought or to ask if the Champion hit his head in that last fight. Time is precious. "There's an escape pod waiting in the hangar, marked for repair. It's working fine, but the engineers don't know that yet."

"Wait," the Champion interjects as he sits up, rubbing his flesh wrist with artificial fingers. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because you don't deserve this," Keith mumbles, tucking away his knife. "And...I want to find my home."

There's a determination that sets itself in the Champion's face. "Shiro," he says.

"Huh?"

"That's my name. Shiro." A hand covers Keith's on the gurney, and it floods warmth under his ribs. "I'm going to get you home, Keith."

His heart hammers, and Keith struggles to meet his eyes. "I believe you...Shiro."

Keith barely has him on his feet when the door opens, and a Galra doctor—the same one who had watched him warily in the infirmary—stands stunned in the entryway. It's instinct to immediately whip out his blade again, and stand protectively between him and Shiro.

"Wait!"

Instead of sounding the alarm, the doctor glances behind him, on edge, and Keith hesitates.

"I'm here to help the prisoner escape," the doctor explains, unexpectedly. "Zarkon has located the Blue Lion on Earth. You must hurry and retrieve it before he can."

"Blue...Lion?" Shiro murmurs behind him, confused.

But Keith feels an instinctive dread wash upon him. "Voltron?" he whispers as the doctor approaches. "I thought... I thought it was just a myth?"

"No," the doctor says firmly, "and if Zarkon has it in his clutches, then the universe will suffer a thousand times more than it already has. Planets will fall, and Earth will be one of the first, if that's where he goes next." Keith stumbles, stunned, when the doctor brushes past him to move to Shiro's side, tinkering briefly with his prosthetic arm. "I've given you coordinates to the Blade of Marmora base," he tells Shiro with a grave look. "Find the Lion, then bring it here where we can keep it safe."

"Marmora? My mother..."

The doctor looks up to Keith at that, his expression softening into something unexpectedly tender. Keith can see the unspoken apology. "I do not have the answers you seek, little one. And now is not the time. We must hurry. Come."

Setting aside the grief that rises at that answer, Keith snatches up Shiro's hand, pulling him along as they spill out into the hallway together, looking for their escape.

"Zarkon will know what I've done here. I have to disappear," the doctor murmurs, peering around the corner where they wait. "There's a gap in the sentries in fifteen ticks. You must break for it then."

Keith feels the hand in his squeeze.

"Why are you helping us?" Shiro asks desperately.

The doctor looks back to them both, expression set. "As a fighter and leader, you give hope," he says simply. "Hurry! Earth needs you. We all do."

Keith can sense Shiro's conflict, but without a word of goodbye, he tugs him forward, away from their accomplice. They dash through the hallways at full speed, sneaking past late-shift engineers and security drones to a tiny escape pod at the edge of the hangar. Keith is quick to usher him in, sealing them both inside and setting coordinates while Shiro moves to the pilot's chair. It's going to be close quarters, but it's only for a few quintants, two movements at most. They'll learn to live with the squeeze until then.

He takes in Shiro's expression as he moves to his seat, seeing him frown at the controls. "You know how to fly, right? They said you were a pilot?"

Shiro laughs a little darkly. "Yeah, of Earth ships, not alien ones. Don't worry, I'll figure it out."

"Good," Keith says, buckling into the co-pilot's seat, "because I've set the pod holder to malfunction. It will release us from the ship in...well—"

Shiro yelps beside him as the pod suddenly lurches, sucked out into the vacuum of space. But while Shiro panics at their sudden predicament, Keith searches through the mechanical paths of quintessence hidden in their little craft.

"This one," he says, grabbing hold of a lever between them. "Quick! While they're still preoccupied with the hull breach."

A strong, warm hand covers his easily to thrust the control forward, and the pod comes to life immediately, humming with quintessence. But Keith doesn't care about that—only the sunshine beside him that bursts into a bright, vibrant supernova.

"Hold on Blue Lion," Shiro murmurs beside him, a hint of a smile on his lips that makes their connection fizz and sing.

"We're coming home."


	2. The Sun In Your Veins

It takes two days after the cruiser disappears from sight for the adrenaline crash to hit. Two days for the realisation of freedom to sink in and the weight of what he's been through, what he's done, strikes with oppressive force.

It starts with a tremble in his human hand that he tries to steady with an iron grip on the controls in front of him. The... _thing_ they attached to his right arm stays eerily still. It makes his heart beat faster, makes the cockpit shrink around him. His lungs stutter, far too shallow to draw the breath he needs, and sweat beads at his temples as he closes his eyes tight, fighting off flashes of harsh lights, of lost friends and glowing masks. He's locked in his cell, with the roar of the crowd in his ears and sticky ichor drenching his arms. Corpses of loved ones lie at his feet, blood dripping from the hooked weapon in his hand. When he looks at the blade, dead, lilac eyes reflect back at him.

A warm hand on his cheek brings him back to his chair.

"Shiro..."

It's hard to put into words just how relieving it is to just hear his own name. Who knew such a small thing would bring him unfathomable comfort? He reaches up to touch Keith's hand, pressing his cheek into his palm. It's a little selfish, but the contact is grounding, makes him feel a little more human.

"Your quintessence is fluctuating."

It's stated as fact, but Shiro can hear the soft undercurrent of concern in Keith's voice. Shiro doesn't know the meaning behind his words, so he huffs a humourless laugh and opens his eyes. Keith has leaned in close, brows knitted and lips tight. His Druid's cloak, previously draped like a blanket over his sleeping form, pools around his hips in the copilot's chair, revealing the sleek, tight undersuit beneath. He looks smaller without it, more vulnerable.

_I'll need to find him a more suitable outfit on Earth._

It's a ridiculous thought, one without priority in the situation they're in, but at least it distracts him enough to slow his pounding pulse incrementally. 

"Sorry," Shiro says through a strained smile. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Are you..." Keith tilts his head in a way that makes Shiro's heart swell, "upset?"

Shiro can only imagine what little he has experienced of human emotion; for himself and from others. For the most part, he _looks_ human. He looks _beautiful_. Shiro had said as much the first time he saw his face. Skin that almost seems tinged grey-blue in the artificial light and a handsome face with pleasing angles. Thick, ebony hair falling out of its slicked-back braid after sleep to tumble around his face in the most endearingly haphazard way. Those eyes, though... They aren't entirely human. They hold stars and nebulae in their depths—entire universes that explode and live and grow and die inside him. Those eyes are alien, but so warm, and so, so expressive. Shiro senses they will betray Keith's every thought if only he learns how to read them. 

Shiro answers Keith's question with one of his own. "Who _are_ you?"

Keith flinches, looking to where Shiro still holds his hand against his face. "I don't know," he whispers. Determination floods his features. "But I'm going to find out."

Shiro smiles, overcoming his indulgences in human touch to gently set Keith’s hand back in his lap. "Lay down in the back if you need sleep. I'll be all right here for a few hours while you rest."

Keith stares at his hand with an odd look of disappointment, but nods and rises without another word.

* * *

They're three days out from the cruiser when the asteroid hits. The belt is like something out of a Garrison simulation, only Shiro has to work with unfamiliar controls and a tiny ship not built for evasive maneuvers. It only grazes their hull as Shiro squeezes past, but it's enough to jostle the engine into meltdown as he tries to throttle them clear.

It won't respond.

Beside him, Keith unbuckles and kneels to press his hands to the floor. The metal under his palms glows, then suddenly the ship comes to life again, bursting clear of the danger.

Shiro's vision starts swimming the second they're safe, heart hammering as his fears catch up. They could have died. Worse, they could have become stranded, waiting for the Galra to catch up with them. He doesn't want to go back. He doesn't want to bleed for them any more. He doesn't want to become a monster. He—

" _Breathe_."

Keith is on his knees in front of him when he comes to, wedged between his seat and the controls. Warm hands frame Shiro's jaw, but something else steals his attention.

"Your eyes," he rasps. "Your face..."

The golden glow of Keith's irises recedes, and the markings that carve streaks of bright lilac down his cheeks fade into their usual muted lines.

"Do they scare you?" Keith whispers, releasing him.

Shiro is quick to capture his hands, his selfishness still begging for that human touch that grounds him. "Not on you," he answers honestly, and Keith's eyes go wide.

"...You touch my hands a lot," Keith mumbles, averting his gaze, but he doesn't move to pull away.

"What? Never held someone's hand before?" Shiro jokes, but the way Keith goes quiet isn't funny. Shiro swallows and sobers, daring to thread his fingers between Keith's and squeeze. "Does it bother you when I touch you?"

Keith shakes his head adamantly. "Not with you," he echoes, squeezing back as if he's afraid Shiro will let go.

Shiro realises that maybe he's not the only one trying to feel human.

* * *

On day five, Shiro wakes from uncomfortable dreams to a warm body pressed against his. He shifts to glance up at the window, to reassure himself that they're still drifting through space and not into the jaws of the Galra again. It's enough to stir Keith, who blinks sleepily up at him, then freezes still.

"It's okay," Shiro quickly soothes. "I told you to stop sleeping in that chair. And this isn't the most spacious ship. It's not your fault."

He doesn't realise he's moved a hand to Keith's hip until he hears him take a sharp breath. Shiro knows he's always been a tactile person, which undoubtedly added to his torture over these few months. 

Keith on the other hand... 

Shiro can only imagine his existence with the Druids has been a sterile one, lacking in affection. He must be uncomfortable with Shiro's impulsive touch. But as he prepares to withdraw and apologise, Keith begins melting into him. It takes Shiro off-guard. Halting his retreat, he presses his thumb experimentally into the dip of Keith's hipbone. Those alien eyes flutter, and Shiro holds his breath as Keith tilts his face up.

"Do you feel it too?" he half-slurs, making Shiro's heart pound. "Is every human's quintessence like yours?"

"Quintessence?" Shiro repeats, fingers easing up to Keith's waist. It's a word he's heard a couple of times now. He doesn't understand what it means.

"The force of life within you," Keith murmurs, shifting closer still so Shiro's hand slips to his back, where he begins running fingers up and down his spine. Keith arches against him, and Shiro swallows hard. "I can sense it whenever we touch. It's like..." He finally takes hold of Shiro himself, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder. "Sunshine."

Now that he says it, Shiro can sense it too: gentle warmth that starts from within and pulses with energy like a shared heartbeat. He thought he was simply touch-starved. Maybe there's something more. 

Keith meets his eyes unwaveringly. "Would you touch me more?" he asks, sounding so vulnerable.

They've only known each other for such a short time, but Shiro feels there is no universe where he would say no. He only gives the barest of nods before Keith sits up, pulling that skintight suit from his shoulders and arms and down his waist. Shiro sits up to meet him, eyes flicking to his lips. He leans in out of compulsion.

"What are you doing?" Keith asks when he's barely a breath away, going still.

For a moment, Shiro fears he's overstepped, but a second thought comes to him, and it's the one he gives voice to. "Have you ever been kissed before, Keith?"

The little Druid hybrid shakes his head, still as the eternal night outside.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

The lack of hesitation makes Shiro huff a soft, disbelieving laugh between them, but even so, he takes care as he leans in and captures Keith's bottom lip tenderly. Shiro doesn't push, nor does he linger there long, pressing another to the corner of his mouth and then to his jaw. For a moment, Shiro feels overwhelmed—it's been so long since he has kissed anyone, and the quiet intimacy of it is far more addictive than he remembers. When he presses a kiss to his neck, Keith whimpers, and suddenly Shiro is pushed back by the motion of his threadbare, tattered overshirt being pulled over his head.

Keith is the one who dives back in this time, kissing clumsily, desperately. Shiro adjusts his pace by gently pushing Keith down, settling knees either side of his hips with human fingers combing through the sleep-mussed hair falling from his braid. He feels so small like this, so fragile; a stark contrast to just how dangerous Shiro knows he can be. Urgent hands tug Shiro's own suit away from the upper part of his body as he leans down to teach Keith to kiss slow, teasing his tongue when he parts his lips. When Keith loses his breath, Shiro recontinues his trail, kissing his neck, his clavicle, down his chest, stopping at his solar plexus. With hands on his ribs, Shiro looks up to where Keith watches him with shaky breaths.

"Is this okay?" he asks, even as he bathes in the flow of energy between them. It feels right, _instinctive_ , but he wants to hear Keith say it.

"Yes," Keith breathes. "Don't stop. I—" He flushes pink, so human beneath him. "I want...more."

Shiro can guess what that means. The suit does little to hide Keith's obvious arousal. Sparing him any uncertainty, Shiro grinds down against Keith's thigh to let him know it's not one-sided, hooking fingers into the suit gathered at the little Druid's hips.

"This?" he asks, afraid of seeming too eager, pushing too far or the moment crumbling. But Keith nods fervently, and Shiro smothers a sigh of relief with another kiss to Keith's belly.

Shiro can't deny that there's a curiosity in him as he tugs Keith's suit down, but for all intents, everything beneath seems visually human. He's wet and willing already, that much is clear. Shiro knows he has no right to crow about that when they're the only living thing the other has seen in days, but there's still satisfaction in it. He's lost count of the scars he's gained since his capture—none more stark than one across the bridge of his nose. Part of him had expected repulsion, but Keith doesn't so much as flinch at his marred flesh. He sits up for a moment, taking in the sight of the body beneath him.

"You're beautiful," he says again, the same as the first time Keith revealed his face to him. Right now, that face flushes a deeper pink as Keith squirms shyly. "The most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on. Maybe the most beautiful thing in the universe."

Keith seems to decide that's enough, locking his ankles behind Shiro's back and using lithe muscle to twist and reverse their positions. Before Shiro can blink, his suit is around his ankles and Keith is palming at Shiro's cock behind him, shifting back on his knees.

"W-woah, woah," Shiro chokes out, managing to grip onto sense in the midst of his sudden daze. "Easy there. You're not ready for that."

Keith only frowns. "I've done _this_ before," he says, a little indignant, and Shiro tries not to flounder with the thought that this is the same person who, until recently, considered hand-holding and kissing a mystery.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Keith merely shrugs, unbothered. "It's fine if it hurts."

The rush of horror Shiro feels sends him cold, and his fingers grip tight at Keith's waist, holding him still. "No, it's not," he insists, voice soft. "This is an expression of trust, of closeness... It shouldn't be unpleasant."

Part of him mourns all the intimacy Keith's missed in his life when his frown only deepens. He seems intent on ignoring him, attempting to shuffle back on his knees, but Shiro holds him still.

"At least let me..."

All goes still as Shiro closes his hand around Keith's cock, and the Druid shudders an exhale on the upstroke. Shiro tries his best to cover his fingers in the precome that gathers at the head. It's not ideal, but it's better than nothing.

"Be patient," Shiro urges in a low voice when he releases him. Carefully, he pulls Keith a little closer as he half-sits up, reaching behind him to carefully press into him while his fingers are still slick. There's far too much friction for Shiro's liking, but Keith takes it without complaint, stopping Shiro from thinking too hard with a clumsy kiss that draws a laugh from him. Shiro barely manages to fit a second finger in alongside the first when Keith nips at his jaw, taking him by surprise. 

"No more patience," he growls by his ear. "I want to know how it feels with you."

Shiro doesn't know how to refuse, because this energy—this _connection_ between them—it's cellular, and he thinks it may just consume him. But he takes a moment too long to simply bask. Keith takes charge, pushing his hand away, and Shiro finds himself sinking into warmth and pleasure that reaches far beyond the surface and tangles itself in his soul.

It's almost frightening, how this virtual stranger fuses with him so profoundly from touch alone. One look at Keith tells Shiro he feels it too, alien eyes wide and searching for answers to the same questions. Shiro decides there's no point in interrogating the universe for meaning right now and so, taking care with the arm Keith himself fused to his body, Shiro cradles his hips and rocks up into him, watching confusion fade into slow, welcome rapture. His hands fall to Shiro's chest, and the connection crackles under his palms. Sunshine, Keith called it. Shiro feels it spreading slow through his veins like warm honey.

Shiro knows instinctively this is more than yearning for human touch. There's something cosmic between them, like it was fate they would come together in the universe. Keith eases into the sweet, languid rhythm set for him, forgetting urgency, forgetting impatience. The control he hands over is a surprise, but Shiro doesn't waste it, fingers sinking greedily into flesh to hold him firm until he finds the angle that draws a sweet moan from Keith's lips.

It's unhurried; a coy, gentle exploration of each other. Heat quickly pools low through Shiro's body, but it burns slow. They share breath, share touch, share kisses, and it's overwhelming and primal in equal measures. Shiro can almost imagine being grateful for everything he's been through if only it means this impossible encounter. His life has been a storm for months, but Keith's body is a shelter—refuge from everything that haunts him.

Shiro worries that maybe he's being selfish, but Keith makes needy little sounds as he rolls his hips down hard, and Shiro senses that he takes just as much comfort in this too. Keith gives a sharp gasp, a stilted little thing, and suddenly he squeezes his eyes shut, ducking his chin. At first, Shiro fears he's hurt him, but Keith only grinds down into his lap again without missing a beat. The faint lines across his cheekbones pulse softly once, and so Shiro watches a little more intently, fascinated. If he leans in just enough, he can almost imagine he can even see a glow beneath dark lashes, concealed from the rest of the universe. Keith squirms when Shiro pulls him closer and holds him still, biting his lip with eyes closed tight.

"Look at me," Shiro urges. Keith simply shakes his head, but Shiro won't relent that easily. "I want to see. Please?"

The shake becomes more insistent. 

"Keith," he sighs, brushing his cheek. "Baby, please..."

With a soft gasp, Keith's eyes fly open, liquid gold and ethereal. Pools of riches in which Shiro would gladly drown. Keith casts his gaze aside though, as if ashamed. Shiro can only guess the reasons why. With his right hand, the one bestowed to him by the Druids, he reaches up to gently capture his chin and direct him back.

"Don't hide," he whispers, as he splays his other hand at Keith's back. "I want to see _you._ "

Keith's lip trembles, and so Shiro tilts his face up to kiss it steady again. Shiro never wants him to feel guilty; not when he risked everything just to save him, not when it makes him no less human. He's so warm—inside and on the surface of skin—and Shiro basks in it, lets it thaw his bones. 

"Don't you hate me?" Keith asks softly, breath short and punched out. 

Shiro blinks disbelievingly, gaze flicking down his body and back to his golden eyes. "Does it seem like I hate you right now?"

"No," Keith admits, barely a whisper. "No one has ever held me like this before. I don't understand..."

The words stoke something possessive and protective in Shiro. He doesn't understand entirely what this feeling is—something akin to love maybe, if it is entirely possible to love someone after only five days.

"I want to take care of you," he tells Keith, because it's true, and they're the only words he has that won't strip him down to his bare beating heart. 

"But you should hate me," Keith whispers, pressing his forehead to Shiro's. "It's my fault you're—"

"Free?" Shiro cuts in with a breathless laugh. "Alive? You didn't throw me in the ring, you weren't the one who tortured me. You were their prisoner too. Keith—" The Druid shudders at his name, so Shiro says it again. " _Keith_...you saved me."

Keith stills for a moment, leaning back to take Shiro's right hand in both of his. He presses his lips to the metal, whispering to his knuckles.

"Will you leave me when this is over?"

The question is like a punch to the gut. Shiro ruins what remains of Keith's braid to sink his fingers into inky hair as the Druid's thighs start to quake, holding tight as though fearing he could drift away.

"Never. I don't think I could. I feel it too, Keith. Just like you described." The Druid's breath hitches, and Shiro isn't sure if it's his words or the surge of energy between them. "I've been living in the dark ever since they took me. I need the sun."

And so Keith melts into him again, letting him bathe in it.

After what feels like hours, years, entire lifetimes of the universe, Shiro tenderly brings them both undone together. Keith whimpers through his end in his arms, head on Shiro's shoulder, face pressed into his neck. Silently, Shiro soothes him with fingers up and down his spine once more, before easing them both down to lie on his back.

Keith surrenders to the hold, tentatively wrapping his arms around him and resting his cheek on his chest to stare out into space. After their hearts slow, and the connection softens to a hum, he speaks into the quiet of the ship.

"Never seen a planet like that before."

Shiro tilts his head back and feels his breath catch.

"That's Saturn," he says, the words trying to stick in his throat. "Sixth planet from the sun. Second biggest in Earth's solar system."

Keith's arms go a little tighter around him. "So...we're almost home?" he whispers.

Shiro answers him with a kiss into his hair. "Almost home," he affirms.

The sunshine stream between them flares ever-brighter.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always felt it was a bit of a crime that Keith's quintessence sensitivity was kind of...forgotten. The idea of Keith having a little Druid blood in him is just so fascinating to me. It's a concept I'd love to dive into a little more one day (but I will have a new chapter to share soon!).
> 
> Catch me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/copilotsheith/status/1310968941968203778?s=19)!


End file.
